


choose your side, i’ll choose my side

by Catheria



Category: BNA: Brand New Animal (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Can u believe Shirou is Michiru’s father figure? Love that bitch, Character Study, F/F, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, My First Work in This Fandom, One Shot, Sharing a Bed, touch is CRUCIAL, u get that bonus Shirou angst in here too. As a treat, wow can u believe Nazuna and Michiru are in love?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26021917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catheria/pseuds/Catheria
Summary: Nazuna is painfully aware of Michiru next to her. Painfully aware of how she isn’t permanently by her side anymore****Or Nazuna pines and Michiru aches
Relationships: Hiwatashi Nazuna & Kagemori Michiru, Hiwatashi Nazuna/Kagemori Michiru, Kagemori Michiru & Ogami Shirou
Comments: 5
Kudos: 129





	choose your side, i’ll choose my side

**Author's Note:**

> God I hope you like this... this bad boy’s been a work in progress for WEEKS. Enjoy the angst <3

Nazuna is tired. Her darker highlight falls in front of her eyes, her night shirt cool and loose against her skin. The tent is dark and quiet and… not empty for once. Michiru lies beside her, just like old times. Before any of, well, _this_ had happened at least.

Nazuna sighs before readjusting the covers carefully, making sure that Michiru doesn’t stir.

Michiru. Nazuna… Nazuna wants to touch her. To hold her. To talk to her. Nazuna _aches_ to do so. But she can’t.

She’s part of the Church now. She’s the “Silver Wolf.” She can’t let such petty affairs interrupt her true purpose to make the Beastmen at peace. Or at least that’s what Boris tells her.

Nazuna shivers at the thought of him. _He’s just trying to help_ , part of her justifies. She isn’t sure if she believes it.

Nazuna wants to belong. No, Nazuna wants to do more than belong. She wants a following. At least that’s what she tells herself.

For as long as she can remember, Nazuna has wanted to be a star. To have the attention. And now she has it. Now she can _really_ have it, she just has to pull through with tomorrow’s plan. But Michiru…

Nazuna can’t help it. She stares at the dark fabric of the ceiling, looking at its creases and trying to clear her head. It doesn’t help.

Nazuna doesn’t want to betray Michiru. _It’s not really betrayal, though,_ her conscience whispers back.

That’s what Boris has told her. And she wants to believe it. She wants to believe that she isn’t just using Michiru; her oldest friend, her only remaining friend, and maybe more.

Nazuna wants to shut down her thoughts about Michiru. She wants to ignore the months of wondering about her, of hoping that she’s ok, of mourning the loss of someone she doubted she’d ever see again.

The months of longing for Michiru’s touch, for Michiru’s voice, for Michiru’s tenderness, for their little “sleepovers” where they slept in the same bed, not unlike now.

But Nazuna can’t. They’re intoxicating. They won’t let her breathe. All that Nazuna can think about now that Michiru is ok, that Michiru is so close, is of her eyes and hair and her hand in Nazuna’s.

Sure, Michiru is… different now. But so is Nazuna. And Nazuna’s guilty thoughts eat her alive with Michiru’s eyes, dark brown and golden in the sunset, _and_ of Michiru’s eyes, blue and pink and downright hypnotizing.

But Nazuna is tired. Her hair has started to pale thanks to her exertion of maintaining her “Silver Wolf” form on stage time and time again. To the exertion of training every day for at least an hour in attempt to morph into something beautiful and stunning and… and not at all Nazuna.

All that remains of the old Nazuna is Michiru’s silver hoodie that she stole a month before she… changed and one of their earbuds. Michiru always had one and Nazuna always had the other. They’d sit in the park and hold hands and listen to “Night Running” for hours together. And they’d each bring a single earbud because neither of them would dare miss it. Nazuna wonders if Michiru still has hers. If she lost it or threw it away or sold it.

A hand grabs Nazuna’s and she jolts only to relax when she sees it’s Michiru’s. A soft touch that gently caresses the back of her hand before intertwining their fingers.

“What’s up, Naz?” Michiru asks casually, voice heavy with sleep. Nazuna’s heart skips a beat at Michiru saying her nickname for the first time in so long. She isn’t sure she likes it.

“Oh, just... thinking.”

“About?”

Nazuna curses herself for not being more direct to ward off further questions. It takes all of her composure to stop herself from saying “us.”

“Silver Wolf stuff. Nothing that concerns you,” Nazuna chokes out after a lengthy beat of silence.

“Well, it does _kinda_ concern me since I’m helping you get into the city,” Michiru cuts in, Nazuna turning to meet her gaze. She can make out Michiru in the moonlight, hidden halfway behind the sheets and obscured by the shade of the tent. But as beautiful as Nazuna remembers. Even in her beastman form, which Nazuna doesn’t quite understand why she won’t change out of it.

Nazuna decides to take another step over the line.

“It really doesn’t concern _you_.”

She wishes Michiru wouldn’t have stayed. She doesn’t like the feeling of conflict.

“Whatever you say, Nazuna,” Michiru sighs, untangling their hands.

Nazuna feels… _wrong_ after she lets go. Her hands feel empty, which is unusual. She normally doesn’t like physical contact. Well, _now_ she doesn’t at least.

A second lasts a century in Nazuna’s mind before Michiru jolts her out of it.

“I really hope you can stay,” she whispers to the stillness of the tent.

“I do too.”

Simple, direct. Almost cold in inflection. Nothing too personal. But Nazuna feels like she’s bared her heart to Michiru. She hasn’t admitted to something so personal in nearly a year, and already it’s nagging in her mind.

It’s quiet for the count of ten. Dead silent, in fact. A distant siren echoes in the city’s air as Nazuna feels the sheets shift with Michiru.

 _She’s leaving_.

 _Good_ , her consciousness hisses, _she’s too dumb for her own good. You’re happy here. You’ve achieved your dreams._

But her gut disagrees with her mind. Nazuna stiffens as the all too familiar sensation of _wrong_ shivers through her small frame. She doesn’t want Michiru to leave, not that she’d ever admit it, though.

But Michiru does the opposite of what Nazuna anticipates. She feels the thin mattress dip beneath Michiru’s weight as she scoots closer to Nazuna.

Nazuna’s breath hitches in her throat as Michiru gently cups the side of her face, her eyes sparkling with barely visible tears in the dismal lighting.

“I missed you so much, Nazuna. I-I thought I lost you. For good,” she chokes out, running her thumb down Nazuna’s jawline.

Nazuna recoils at Michiru’s touch, but at the same time she leans instinctively into it. _She isn’t Boris_ , Nazuna’s mind whispers.

Nazuna grins.

 _She isn’t Boris_.

Nazuna takes in the love overflowing from Michiru’s eyes, and she feels her throat closing in emotion.

“You didn’t. You haven’t. You never will,” Nazuna blurts out.

 _A promise you won’t keep and you know it_.

Michiru wraps her arms around Nazuna in tears, wordlessly placing her head in the crook of Nazuna’s shoulder just as they’d done hours earlier in the alleyway.

“Goodnight,” Michiru says, voice dripping with sentiment. But that’s not all.

Michiru leans forwards to gently kiss Nazuna on the cheek. She wishes it were on the lips.

Her skin tingles where Michiru’s lips were, nonetheless. She can feel her face grow warm but Michiru is already asleep.

_Are you still going through with your plan after that? Can you?_

_I have to. For the Church. I don’t have a choice. Michiru… means nothing. Just another emotional obstacle in the greater scheme of things._ Nazuna answers herself. Lies to herself.

Regardless, Nazuna falls asleep in Michiru’s arms moments later. Safe if only for now.

* * *

Nazuna wakes up before Michiru, their limbs tangled beyond recognition. She blinks a few times before her vision loses its blur. Michiru’s head is tucked beneath Nazuna’s chin and their arms are still wrapped around each other in the pale glow of dawn.

Nazuna doesn’t want to move, because for one she doesn’t want to wake up Michiru and for two she doesn’t want to admit to what she’s about to do to her. So she lies there, listening to Michiru’s quiet breaths and feeling her chest rise and fall against Nazuna’s.

Nazuna has a headache. Her instinct is to blame it on sleeping with Michiru but she knows it’s from her own guilt. Guilt from something she hasn’t even done yet.

She won’t allow her brain to describe it. Instead it just weighs heavy in the back of her mind as “The Thing.”

Nazuna is hyper aware of Michiru’s body against hers. Soft and warm and so much different than everything else she’s been exposed to since the incident. Familiar, too. Despite the few… changes it’s still Michiru. Nazuna’s Michiru. But Déese Lourve’s? That’s up to debate.

Nazuna wants to melt into the mattress. She knows what she’s going to do. What she _has_ to do. And she won’t let her own attachment get in the way of it, even if she’s wrapped around and suffocated in the thought of Michiru.

Michiru yet again drags her out of her thoughts, this time by waking up. In Nazuna’s arms.

Nazuna panics and pretends to be asleep, slamming her eyelids shut and going limp to avoid the awkwardness of Michiru finding out that Nazuna is holding her while wide awake.

“Oh,” she hears her squeak before hesitantly untangling their limbs.

Nazuna fakes a yawn after Michiru is fully separated from her.

“Guess I should get dressed,” she says, moving her legs so they hang over the end of the bed.

“Oh, right!” Michiru awkwardly exclaims, launching herself out of bed and dusting off her jacket.

Nazuna takes off her nightshirt and grabs the hoodie next to her feet on the ground without thinking. She swiftly pulls it over her body and then begins to scour for her favorite pair of leggings.

Something is off, though. Michiru is uncharacteristically quiet.

 _Oh_.

Nazuna grabs the leggings out from beneath her bed, avoiding Michiru’s eye contact.

 _How could you forget_?

Nazuna knows she never forgot. Quite the opposite, in fact. That’s _why_ this hoodie is her favorite, actually.

Nazuna slips on her leggings quickly, finally looking up to see Michiru flushed and deliberately looking the opposite direction.

“Have you seen my leg warmers?” Nazuna asks, trying to avoid the elephant in the room.

Michiru turns to face Nazuna and blurts out, “No, but it’s good to see you’ve had something to hang onto.”

“Oh,” Nazuna feigns surprise, heart leaping into her throat, “yeah, I guess so. Sorry I never had the chance to give it back.”

“No, it looks good on you,” Michiru says a little too quickly, face turning even redder as she awkwardly scratches her neck.

“Thanks, Michiru,” Nazuna answers emptily. Her brain is elsewhere at the moment.

“So what were you saying about the coffee shop where the mayor visits regularly?” Nazuna continues, avoiding Michiru’s gaze and looking for her leg warmers. Nazuna sighs. She doesn’t like how she feels nauseous thanks to her own guilt eating her alive.

“Be the best beastman you can be” but what does that mean for Nazuna? To help her Church gain entry into the city or to help her oldest friend?

_You know._

And despite knowing Nazuna picks the other option, which is barely justifiable even to herself.

_You have to._

“Oh,” Michiru interrupts Nazuna’s internal conflict, “It’s just a few blocks away! And it has great cappuccinos!”

Nazuna smiles at Michiru remembering her favorite drink. A warm feeling blossoms in her chest only to fade away as quickly as it came when Michiru innocently asks, “Why don’t you wear skirts anymore, I thought you hated leggings?”

“No reason,” Nazuna shoots back immediately, “They just aren’t a fan of them in the Church.”

“Ah. Ok. I just thought they suited you,” Michiru comments before shifting closer to the tent’s exit.

“Anyway,” Nazuna begins again after finally finding her leg warmers, which were hidden beneath her sheets, “What was up with that man back at your apartment?”

“Oh, Shirou? He’s like… my government assigned dad for lack of better terms? He seems cold and he _certainly_ is strange but he means well,” Michiru chirps happily, the early morning light illuminating her eyes as she waits for Nazuna next to the tent’s exit.

“Huh, strange _is_ the right word.”

“Don’t worry, he’s just a little protective.”

Nazuna wishes someone was protective of her. Boris certainly isn’t. He’s… possessive. And Nazuna is starting to think Michiru is right about the “creepy” part. The more she thinks about him the more unsettled Nazuna feels. But this is what she’s chosen. She has to stay loyal to her cause; to her Church.

Nazuna finishes slipping on her leg warmers and shoes, finally walking over to Michiru. She thinks she’s gotten a little taller, because Michiru seems a little shorter face to face.

Nazuna doesn’t realize she’s staring until Michiru awkwardly cuts in, “Hey, are you ready to go?”

“Uh, yeah!” Nazuna stumbles out, hoping the pink of her hair hides her blush. Michiru holds the cloth aside for Nazuna to exit the tent, and Nazuna still tries not to look at her. The air is brisk, and Nazuna is glad she’s wearing warm clothing because otherwise she’d be fighting the urge to revert to her fox form.

“It’s been a while since we’ve taken a walk together,” Michiru laughs sadly, rubbing her arm and averting Nazuna’s gaze.

“It has,” Nazuna nods, picking at the drawstrings of her- Michiru’s- hoodie.

“I’ve really missed this,” Michiru continues without hesitation as they slide into an alleyway.

“Me too.”

Nazuna wants to stop playing games. Nazuna wants to just cut to the chase and get Michiru out of her life again, because she can’t stand how conflicted and distracted she feels around her. Nazuna has to physically fight the urge to reach for Michiru’s hand as it swings a few inches in front of her.

It’s quiet for a while, just like old times when they’d just sit together on a park bench and listen to “Night Running” for hours. Except the silence isn’t comfortable anymore. It’s loaded with tension, and Nazuna is the only one out of the two aware of it.

Michiru finally turns a corner and says, “This is it!”

Nazuna can’t help but let out a small sigh of relief. It’ll be over soon. They’ll be over soon.

_But is that what you really want?_

“So what are you going to get while we wait for her to show up?” Michiru asks, absentmindedly taking Nazuna’s hand to lead her inside and sending her heart aflutter.

“A cappuccino,” she manages melancholically.

“Of course, after everything else has changed you still have no taste.”

“ _Hey_!” Nazuna laughs, but only halfheartedly.

It’s warm inside the cafe, especially compared to outside, but Nazuna feels frigid. Despite the comforting smell of cinnamon and the warm lighting and the _physical_ warmth, Nazuna feels like she’s freezing over.

Michiru lets go of her hand without second thought, and Nazuna thinks she understands why they call it a “cold snap.” Her heart feels like it’s simply going to crack at her own lack of warmth and sympathy and Michiru. But she puts on a smile anyway.

“The mayor’s over there!” Michiru nudges Nazuna.

“I can’t wait to be with you again, Nazuna,” Michiru says earnestly, eyes burning through Nazuna’s mask of calmness.

“Neither can I,” Nazuna smiles. It’s only half a lie.

* * *

Shirou stands in the bathroom in front of a mirror. He has been for half an hour now. Hands shaking as they grip the sink.

He feels… wrong. Very wrong. He knows he was in the right to tell Michiru not to go with Nazuna, but she went anyway.

_Maybe she would’ve stayed if you hadn’t driven her away._

Shirou’s eyes burn. He knows Michiru can damn well take care of herself. But that isn’t the problem.

He’s grown attached to the young tanuki, despite everything. Adopted her in a way. Finally found some companionship, which is alarmingly rare for a 1000 year old wolf to come across.

He doesn’t want to lose Michiru.

_Your fault._

Shirou doesn’t realize he’s crying until his tears begin to spill over and burn his cheeks. He doesn’t like it. Hot tears against his unnaturally cool skin. Dripping down over the hundreds- _thousands-_ of scars marring his body.

 _Wrong_.

Maybe if Michiru comes back he’ll tell her the truth. Maybe she’ll get it then.

His hands drift to his collar… to the section of his own body he’s labeled “off limits” even to himself.

He hesitates. He doesn’t even take it off when he sleeps. And then he lets his hands shakily pull the leather loose.

He doesn’t mean to, but he drops it. The collar. It hits the ground with a soft thud rather than the hard clang he expected.

His heart pounds in his ears as every inch of himself yells again and again, _Wrong._

Shirou’s hands finally find themselves at his own neck, which in a millennia he still hasn’t been able to reclaim.

His fingers numbly trace over the scar tissue, sending a shiver down his spine. He wants to do something, say something that helps him assert that it’s _his_ , but nothing comes to mind.

First it was the human who slaughtered him’s. His mark of victory; his final slash.

But now it was the rest of the beastmen’s. The Silver Wolf, their guardian and savior and god. Which Shirou feels he’ll never amount to. A false deity in his own eyes.

Shirou looks in the mirror. His eyes are hollow in anxiety, dark lines beneath them ever more prominent. His hair falls in his face, white against white. It ghosts his forehead and he doesn’t know if he finds it comforting or unnerving at the moment.

He finally lets his eyes drift down to his neck, and it’s just as he remembers it. Glaring at him with its silver scar, jagged and unavoidable and… wrong.

He shakily traces over it again with his fingers, before finally admitting defeat yet again to a marker a millennia old. Shirou crouches down to grab his collar only to awkwardly stumble to the ground thanks to the loud slam of a door.

Despite the pounding of blood in his ears he listens to the single exchange of Melissa asking, “Michiru, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just need to be alone,” the tanuki sniffles out in response, and Shirou can hear her trudge quickly up the stairs and to her room.

At first Shirou feels almost euphoric; Michiru is home and safe. But the feeling wears away as quickly as it came, replaced near immediately by concern given how she sounded like she’d been crying.

Of course, Shirou can’t act superior. Here he sits, on the floor of the bathroom. Back against the sink, hugging his knees, and trying not to cry. He doesn’t feel much better, but he knows he should say _something_ to Michiru, especially after their last encounter.

He lets out a sigh before shakily rising to his feet, drying the rest of his tears, and grabbing his trench coat off of the door handle. He slips it on, the weight comforting and calming as he slows his labored breaths.

Shirou takes another glance at himself in the mirror, glancing at the gash across his neck yet again.

“Not today,” he mutters aloud, reaching for his collar on the edge of the sink.

He secures it, it feeling snug against his neck. Feeling secure and safe and reassuring.

He sighs again, running his fingers through his hair before looking in the mirror again.

He glances at his eyes to make sure no tears are visible before he leaves, only to get distracted by how tired he looks.

Maybe he’s reading into it too much, but it feels like there’s a millennia of tragedy and sorrow written across his face. From the dark rings beneath his eyes to the depth of his irises, he looks like a testament to centuries of trauma. And maybe he is.

Nothing more but a living memory to stand a marker of the beastmen’s suffering.

Shirou’s eyes begin to burn again, but he manages to choke his own self resentment down, if only for Michiru’s sake. He needs to say _something_ to her.

He shrinks a little into his coat, wanting to disappear within its folds, before finally working up the courage to open the door.

It’s a good thing that Shirou so thoroughly dried his tears because the second the door cracks open Melissa is directly in front of him, her eyes brimming with worry.

“Hey, something’s up with Michiru. Could you please talk to her, I know she’s close to you and she won’t open up to me or Gem and-“

“It’s okay, Melissa, I’ll talk to her,” Shirou cuts the frantic woman off, trying to keep his own voice steady despite his own turmoil.

“Oh, thank you so much,” she sighs in relief before perking up again to add, “And I made some tea, chamomile lavender is her favorite right? I added some honey too!”

“I’ll gladly take it to her,” he says, awkwardly stuffing his hands in his pockets as Melissa leaves to grab the tea.

Melissa returns as quickly as she left, handing Shirou Michiru’s mug but not leaving before chiming in, “I’m glad you’ve opened up a little bit!”

And with that she’s gone, leaving Shirou standing alone in the hallway with a hot mug of tea and a strange feeling of warmth.

* * *

Halfway up the stairs he can hear Michiru’s sobs, which crack something inside him ever so slightly. Not in a way he’s used to either.

For Shirou, everything tends to be impersonal minus his interactions with Gem, Melissa, and Rose. He wakes up, meets with Rose, gets involved in shenanigans of some sort, he… doesn’t exactly sleep but he settles down for the night to start the cycle again.

Nothing personal. That is, until Michiru came crashing into his life with her bright disposition and high running emotions.

Then it got personal.

Shirou hesitates before knocking on the door, taking a few seconds before even realizing that he’s at the top of the stairs.

“Michiru?” He calls.

He’s answered with a choked, “Come in.”

He cracks the door open to see Michiru sprawled atop her bed, head buried in her pillow and a photo frame held tightly against her chest.

“Melissa made you tea, your favorite,” Shirou begins after a moment of silence.

“Thanks,” Michiru sniffles, sitting up and placing the photo frame next to her on the bed. It’s a picture of her and Nazuna.

“What happened?” Shirou asks as Michiru takes the mug from his hands.

“Nazuna… Nazuna she-“ Michiru is cut off by her own sniffling.

“She betrayed me. She just wanted to use me to talk to the mayor and then denied it afterwards.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Michiru throws back, wiping her tears before taking a sip of her tea, “And the worst part is I can’t get her out of my head. It was always her and I against the world but now it’s just _her_ , I guess.”

She places the mug down on a neighboring coffee table before picking up the picture again.

“I want her back, Shirou. And I feel stupid for it. I _want_ her,” Michiru’s voice breaks and that crack inside of Shirou deepens a little bit.

“I want her to be happy and safe and with _me_ , but I guess she just wants to be in a shady cult instead.”

_Ah._

Shirou knows what’s up between the two, but he doesn’t think Michiru does.

“I’m… sorry that things worked out like this,” he manages, tugging at his collar awkwardly.

“There’s nothing I can do right now, but thanks, Shirou,” Michiru says, “I really appreciate it.”

There it is again. That feeling of warmth.

“No problem.”

“You know,” Michiru starts, leaning against Shirou with tears still streaming out of her eyes, “I told Nazuna that you were my ‘government assigned dad.’”

Shirou is stiff against the physical contact, but manages to say, “I’m pretty sure I’d end up like this without being a social worker.”

“Funny how things work out, isn’t it?” Michiru comments, her usual spunk lacking in a moment of tears.

“Yeah,” Shirou answers after a beat of silence. He’s uncomfortably aware of the scar beneath his collar, but he returns Michiru’s embrace to his own surprise.

“It is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Find me on tumblr @shirouogaymi


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